Savage Awakening(3)

Grasping Amy's arm before she could get away from her, she pointed to  the offending item. 'What is Buttons's hutch doing here?' she demanded  shortly. 'Is he inside?' She dipped her head. 'Yes, I can see he is.  Come on, Amy. What is he doing here?'

Amy's shoulders drooped and Fliss wasn't at all surprised when her eyes  moved appealingly to Matthew Quinn. Of course, she thought irritably. He  must have known about this. That was what he and Amy had been talking  about when she'd interrupted them. And he hadn't said a word, even  though he must have realised that she hadn't been aware of what was  going on.

She turned on him then, prepared to voice her indignation-however  unjustified that indignation might be-and found him leaning tiredly  against the frame of the door. His face was drawn now and scored with a  haunting weariness she was sure wasn't just the result of lack of sleep.

Immediately, all thought of reprimanding him fled. The man looked ill,  for goodness' sake. And exhausted. Or utterly bored by their exchange.

'Um-are you all right?' she ventured, and at her words he seemed to make a conscious effort to recover himself.

'A little fatigued is all,' he assured her firmly, but he backed into  the kitchen as he spoke and now she could smell the acrid aroma of  charred bacon. He glanced behind him, evidently noticing the same  problem, and, forestalling any offer she might have made, he added, 'Can  we continue this at some other time, Mrs Taylor? I'm afraid my  breakfast is burning.'





CHAPTER TWO





FLISS endeavoured not to think about Matthew Quinn again until she'd taken her daughter to school.

Instead, she'd concentrated on Amy's behaviour, on how disappointed she  was that the little girl had lied to her. When, faced with the prospect  of Buttons being sent to the local animal shelter for his own safety,  Amy had come up with a solution of her own, her mother had been  relieved. A friend at school had offered the rabbit a home, she'd said,  and Fliss had allowed her to take Buttons away on her grandfather's  wheelbarrow, never dreaming that Amy had had no intention of giving the  rabbit to anyone.

Now, however, her deception had been discovered, and in the most  embarrassing way possible. Matthew Quinn either considered Fliss was an  unfit mother-a label that had been slung at her more times than she  cared to remember since, at the age of sixteen, she'd discovered she was  pregnant-or an unfeeling one, which was probably worse.

Amy, attempting to justify her actions, had assured her mother that  'Quinn' hadn't minded the fact that he had had an unwanted squatter on  his land, but Fliss believed she knew better. From what she'd seen of  him, she thought Matthew Quinn was not a well man, and he'd probably  only been humouring the child to avoid further argument.                       
       
           



       

Whatever, Fliss was faced with the not-very-pleasant task of returning  to the big house to collect the rabbit and make her apologies. Again.  Amy wouldn't be pleased, particularly if she was once again forced to  consider the prospect of Buttons living out his days at the animal  shelter, but it couldn't be helped. Whatever Matthew Quinn had said, she  doubted he would really appreciate having a furry mammal-however  appealing-on his premises on a permanent basis.

And if he did have a wife …

Just because he'd said he didn't have a family didn't necessarily mean …

But that was one speculation too far. Fliss had no intention of making  that mistake. OK, he was one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen.  He was also one of the most dangerous to her peace of mind and, with or  without a wife, he was way out of her league.

Her father was up by the time she got back from taking Amy to school.

Until four years ago George Taylor had run the small pharmacy in the  village. But a dwindling population-due to the shortage of jobs, and  many houses being bought as second homes by city-dwellers-plus the  cheaper attractions of the supermarket in nearby Westerbury, had  hastened his retirement. These days he supplemented their income by  writing articles for the local paper, occasionally babysitting Amy when  Fliss worked occasional evenings at the local pub.

Harvey, her father's retriever, barked and jumped up at her excitedly  when she let herself into the cottage, and she wished the dog would act  his age. Harvey was seven years old, for heaven's sake. Old enough to  behave himself. But he still acted like a puppy and her father spoiled  him outrageously.

'Everything OK?' he asked now as Fliss came into the kitchen, where he  was enjoying his breakfast of toast and marmalade, and she dropped down  into the chair opposite him and pulled a face.

'As it will ever be, I suppose,' she grumbled, reaching for the coffee  pot and pouring herself a cup. 'I've just discovered where Buttons is  living.'

'The rabbit?' Her father put his paper aside and regarded his daughter curiously.

'Yes, the rabbit.' Fliss scowled.

'Well, I thought Amy had found him a home,' he said, puzzled. 'Don't tell me she's keeping the rabbit in her room.'

'No. Nothing like that.' Fliss shook her head. 'She's been keeping it at the Old Coaching House.'

Her father started to laugh and then subdued it. 'Well, the little  monkey,' he said instead. 'Still, it doesn't matter, does it? The place  is empty.'

'As a matter of fact, it's not,' declared Fliss, taking a sip of her  coffee. 'There's a new tenant. Or rather, a new owner. I met him this  morning.'

'Really?' George Taylor looked surprised. 'They've kept that quiet. I didn't even know it was on the market.'

'Nor did I.' Fliss looked momentarily wistful. 'It certainly brings it home to me that Colonel Phillips is gone for good.'

'Hmm.' Her father nodded, and then reached across the table to pat his  daughter's hand. 'He was very old, Fliss. What was he? Ninety-two  or-three?'

'Ninety-one,' said Fliss firmly. 'And I know he was old. But he was very kind to me.'

Her father sighed. 'And you were kind to him, too. I doubt if he'd have got anyone else to do all his housework as you did.'

'He paid me,' Fliss protested. 'I miss that income, I really do.'

'Well, I can't say I'm sorry you're not working as a domestic any  longer,' declared her father, buttering another slice of toast. 'You  deserve better than that. I don't know what your mother would say about  you wasting your degree.'

Fliss sighed now. This was an old argument and one she didn't  particularly want to get into today. It was true, while her mother was  alive, she had been able to leave Amy with her and attend the local  university. But when her mother died in a car crash just a year after  she'd graduated, she'd had to give up her job as a trainee  physiotherapist to look after Amy herself.                       
       
           



       

There'd been no question of paying a child minder. Her father's business  had been folding and money was scarce. And, although he'd offered to  babysit, he'd had enough to do coping with his own grief. Looking after a  lively four-year-old would have been too much for him to manage.

Now, of course, he could have coped, but Fliss didn't think it was fair  to ask him. He'd settled happily into his retirement and he would have  missed being able to go to the library when he felt like it, calling in  at the pub for a drink, gossiping with his cronies.

'Anyway, we weren't talking about me,' she said, taking another swallow  of coffee. 'Hmm, this is good. Why does my coffee never taste like  this?'

'Because you don't put enough coffee in the filter,' replied her father  comfortably, slipping a crust of bread beneath the table for Harvey to  take. Then, seeing his daughter's eyes upon him, he added swiftly,  'Anyway, maybe the new owner will want a housekeeper, too.'

Fliss knew he'd never have said that in the ordinary way. It was just to  divert her from his persistent habit of feeding the dog at the table,  and she pulled a wry face.

'I don't think so.'

He frowned now. 'Why not?' He paused. 'Oh, perhaps they already have a housekeeper, hmm?'

'Perhaps they do.' Fliss felt curiously loath to discuss Matthew Quinn  with her father. 'In any case, I'm going to have to go over there and  fetch the rabbit back.'

'Do you want me to do it?'

It was tempting, but Fliss shook her head. She wanted-no, needed-to see  Matthew Quinn again. She needed to explain why Amy had felt free to  deposit the rabbit on his doorstep.

When Colonel Phillips was alive and Fliss had worked at the house three  mornings a week, Amy had often accompanied her. The old man had been  especially fond of the little girl and he'd encouraged Fliss to bring  her along. So, whenever Amy had been away from school, for holidays and  suchlike, she'd been a welcome visitor at the house.

Sometimes the colonel had played board games with her, and she'd been  fascinated by his display cases filled with coins gleaned from almost a  century of collecting. The house had been an Aladdin's cave to the  little girl, and she'd been encouraged to share it.